The One She Loved Most
by eggsaladstain
Summary: She held him in her hands and forgot for a moment that it was those hands that drove a knife into his heart.


Let me clarify the ways I use italics: for emphasis; for quotes, speech, dialogue; for signifying the fairy tale characters.

Parts of this piece correspond to Part III of Little Boy Blue.

Apologies in advance for the overuse of the word "Henry". And the word "cake".

Everything is ambiguous and nothing is an accident.

* * *

><p><strong>The One She Loved Most<strong>

When Mr. Gold placed the baby in her arms, she could feel it, her happy ending. When he blinked up at her for the first time and wrapped his tiny little hand around her finger, she knew without a doubt that this was _Henry_, the one she loved most, her precious fath- no, not _father_. Son.

She held him in her hands and forgot for a moment that it was those hands that drove a knife into his heart. No. Not his heart. _His_ heart.

And then Henry fell asleep in her arms with his head against her own heart and she let herself forget.

But Regina was never supposed to forget. The point of the curse was that it was her secret, the secret that would give her power over _them_, power over their happiness. But then, Henry. Henry, with his bright brown eyes and little tuft of brown hair and cheeky little smile. Henry.

And for the first time in her life, she didn't care about power or hatred because she had love, and _Henry_ was right, love_ is_ seductive.

Regina let herself forget everything for Henry. She replaced black knights and magic mirrors and spells with babysitters and diapers and finger-painting. Regina didn't mind forgetting. She took him to the park and read him stories and threw him parties for his birthdays and she forgot that she was a queen because she so loved being a mother, his mother. She loved how he toddled after her everywhere, smiling every time she entered the room, always calling _Mama, Mama, Mama_.

_Mama, I love you_, he used to say. _And I love you, Henry,_ she would reply.

She watches him run out the door now; he's no longer a baby, he no longer follows her around, he no longer says _I love you_. She wonders when he stopped saying those words to her. It must have been sometime after his third birthday.

...

She had planned on ordering a cake from the bakery, vanilla with buttercream frosting (_his_ favorite). But the bakery was booked that weekend with an order for Mr. Gold, and Mr. Gold always got what he wanted. And despite how very domestic she had become, despite how many home-cooked meals she made sure to place on the table, she had never learned how to bake. She asked if there was any way, any way at all, and the man making muffins whispered that she could ask Mary Margaret Blanchard - _the woman's a saint and her treats are to die for_, he promised.

Regina laughed so hard she might have actually been crying. Because forgetting was easy, but sometimes, so, too, was remembering.

But Regina loved Henry and she wanted his day to be perfect, so she went to Mary Margaret's (_the one whose heart she should have cut out_) and did something she had never done before - she asked for a favor. And Mary Margaret couldn't guarantee anything, but Regina didn't care as long as Henry had his birthday cake.

But then Mary Margaret arrived on her doorstep with a chocolate cake with cinnamon frosting and destroyed everything (_again_). Regina accepted the cake, of course - she couldn't disappoint Henry - but that didn't make it okay because Henry didn't like chocolate and he didn't like cinnamon and he most certainly didn't like them together. And it was his third birthday and she had wanted so much for everything to be perfect.

_The fairest of them all_ apologized over and over again and before Regina could stop herself, the queen inside her spat out _you destroyed my happiness, but I won't forgive you for destroying my son's._

It was the wrong thing to say. It was a ridiculous thing to say about a cake. But it wasn't just a cake. It was a cake for Henry. And Henry made her do ridiculous things (like forget).

She went back inside, wondering how she was going to get rid of that dessert, but she shouldn't have worried because there Henry sat, digging away at it, looking happier than ever.

_Henry_ didn't like chocolate. _Henry_ didn't like cinnamon. _Henry _didn't like them together.

She glimpsed then that he wasn't _Henry_. He wasn't her _Henry_, the _Henry_ who was supposed to be her happy ending. _Her happy ending_ - that was the deal. But it was a deal made with Mr. Gold - a deal made with _Rumplestiltskin_ - and that was her first mistake.

And then she ignored Henry's cries and threw away that cake and that was her second mistake.

Everything changed after that.

...

But she still loved him because she was still his mother and he, her son, and maybe she blew the cake fiasco out of proportion. So she apologized for his birthday and he forgave her and the _Mama, Mama, Mama, I love you_s continued again. But the damage had been done, the fear had been planted inside her - what if he wasn't _Henry?_

She had to be sure, she had to have her happy ending this time.

_Tell Mama what your favorite color is, _she would coo. _Yellow!_, he would chirp, _like the sun!_

(But _Henry_ had always said _red, like the apple_.)

_Tell Mama what your favorite season is,_ she would say. _Fall!_, he would reply, _because of the leaves!_

(But _Henry _had always said_ winter, because of the snow._)

_..._

So she switched tactics. She stopped the interrogations and replaced the comics he loved with history books and his finger paints with a calligraphy set and waited for _his_ natural aptitude and talent to shine. But the history books went untouched, collecting dust, and he just used the ink as finger paint anyway.

She still loved him. But she couldn't bear the thought that he wasn't _Henry_ and she didn't know what she would do if he wasn't _Henry_. So she started asking him not to bother her when she was working, she started working more, she started moving City Council Meetings to Saturday.

But he would still say, _Mama, I love you_. _And I love you, Henry_, she would still reply, but sometimes, she would almost say _I love you, Daddy_. And she just couldn't see that her son was not her father and she just couldn't believe that Henry wasn't _Henry_.

And that was another mistake.

...

Eventually, the _Mama, Mama, Mama, I love you_s came fewer and farther in between. And she swore she could sometimes smell chocolate and cinnamon on his breath when she kissed him goodnight. _Mama_ turned into _mom_ and, desperate, she started buying him comic books again but she bought all the wrong ones, and he would politely say _thank you_ but she would still always find them in the trash later.

Then _mom_ turned into _Regina_ and then _Regina_ turned into _the mayor_ and then he stopped calling her anything at all. And then _mom_ was no longer her, but that blonde woman, that terrible, evil woman with the annoying yellow car who thought she could just throw Henry away and then walk back into his life like it was nothing.

She had no right to him, she had no right to stay in town, to get his hopes up. She was only going to break his heart and Regina would do anything to make sure that didn't happen (_again_).

...

And then the story book, the story book that held the truth, the story book that she stole while Henry was sleeping. (Was this really the type of mother she had become?) The pages and the words were all so familiar and yet so foreign because Regina had spent such a long time forgetting. She didn't really want to remember, but once she started, she couldn't stop. And since remembering, all she can see is _Henry_ with his dull, dark eyes and white hair and mouth open in pain as she cut out his heart.

_Henry,_ who once told her that they could be together, that the choice was hers.

She made a choice then.

Now, she wonders if it was the right one.

Because _Henry_ also once told her that the price would be a hole that could never be filled and she realizes now that he may have been right. The hole in her life is much too big, and Henry, much too small. He doesn't fit. He can never fit.

_But._

She'll be damned if she ever stops trying.

Because she did not give up _Henry_ in one world just to lose him again in this one.

Henry made her soft, Henry made her forget, but _Henry_ makes her strong and _Henry_ makes her remember.

Because even if it was a mistake, even if it was the wrong choice, it was still her choice and she will see this through, if not in this world, then in the next one, and the next one, and the next one.

She will pay whatever price and she will let the hole in her life consume her if that's what it takes.

Because Regina loved Henry.

Because Regina loved _Henry_.


End file.
